Chapter Text
Ignis Scientia, right hand man and advisor to the King, strode into his offices and ran knees-first into a desk.
He stopped there a moment, bracing his hands on the corner of the offending piece of furniture, feeling the smooth, polished surface slide under his fingers.
“Anthony,” he said, in a quiet voice. “Did the new girl move her desk again?”
“Oh, no,” cried a young man from the other end of the room. “I’m so sorry, sir, I thought I moved everything back the way it was—“
“No, no,” Ignis said. Anthony was an earnest young man, with a keen eye for detail and an eagerness to please that was almost painful. “You’re quite alright. Next time, I'll simply nail the desk to the floor and let her figure it out."
Anthony let out a discreet cough. The poor boy had no sense for sarcasm.
Ignis tread with a mite more care than usual. “Did we receive any news from the embassy in Lestallum since last week?”
Anthony hurried to the desk, and Ignis suppressed a sigh. It seemed like he spent so much time in the palace, lately, traveling from office to council hall, council hall to the King’s offices, following King Noctis like a shadow at his heels. He only half listened to Anthony’s reports, wishing he were out in the chill air of Insomnia’s spring.
“And I had Bethan enter it into the system for you,” Anthony finished, rambling to a stop.
“Thank you,” Ignis said, inclining his head slightly. “It was a good decision to promote you to this office.” He could practically feel the joy radiating from the young clerk. “Take the rest of the day off. I’ll close up here.”
“Really? Thank you, sir!” Anthony scrambled to straighten the files he often left scattered on the desktop. He paused a moment, and Ignis lifted his chin in an unspoken question. “Sir? If it isn’t too bold to ask?”
“Continue.”
“You were there, sir, on the day the Queen destroyed the Starscourge. What… what was it like?”
Ignis pressed his lips together, breathing in deeply. How had he forgotten? It was the fifth anniversary of the defeat of the Starscourge just next week—soon he would have to tune out half of the radio stations in the country just to get by.
“I can't say I recall the details,” he said, in a short, clipped voice.
When it became clear that was all he was going to get by way of response, Anthony murmured his goodbyes and tripped out the door. Ignis turned to follow the sound of his exit, and tried not to recall the sound of the churning sea of Altissia, the scent of electrical fire, the taste of blood and grit in his teeth.
--
One of the last things Ignis saw in this life was Lunafreya of Tenebrae. She was crouching in her white dress, her hands clutched to the arm of Ardyn Izunia, chancellor to Niflheim. A golden haze seemed to well up through the chancellor’s skin, like spots of sickness, blooming and fading as he struggled in the Oracle’s grip. Dark blood pooled at Luna’s side, but she hung on, and Ardyn started to convulse on the distant pier.
Above them, held aloft by Luna’s power and little else, Noctis fought the Leviathan.
Ignis had his own fight to contend with. He had to clear the northern exit to Altissia of imperial soldiers, giving stragglers time to flee the carnage—Prompto and Gladio were already handling the western and eastern gates. But he was frozen in place, stricken with a wrench of horror as Noctis’ childhood friend dangled in the chancellor’s grip. The man broke free, and she threw herself onto him. Waves threatened to knock them aside as the Leviathan writhed in agony behind them, and just as the chancellor’s scrabbling hands closed around Luna’s neck, Noctis rolled to the ground beside her. Luna turned, and a pillar of blinding light rose around her and the chancellor, sending Noctis back. The prince staggered, righted himself, reached his hand into the light, and was consumed.
Ignis didn’t even have time to react. He was knocked to the ground as a magitech soldier’s anchor narrowly clipped his arm, landing in a scramble of slick cobblestones and metal-toed shoes and fear. There were too many of them, all at once, red eyes glowing in their green, synthetic faces, the chest of the nearest battery soldier sparking and hissing an inch from his temple as they bore down upon him.
--
“Ignis Scientia,” cried a warm, familiar voice, shattering the silence of the empty office. King Noctis Lucis Caelum walked smartly in his well-worn boots, heels tapping on the stone floor. “I have come to rescue you from the deadly grip of paperwork. Is that squirrely clerk of yours still here?”
“I sent him home,” Ignis said, “and you shouldn’t be so—“ He was cut off by the press of Noctis’ body to his, the calloused hands in his hair, warm lips soft on his own. He sank into the kiss for a moment, relishing the gentle pull of Noct’s lips in his teeth, before leaning back.
“Your Majesty, the door.”
“Not when we’re alone, Ignis,” the King said, heading in for another kiss. “Your Majesty is for the throne room. How long have I been telling you?”
“Only most of your life.”
“Shows how much you respect my wishes,” Noctis said, and cupped Ignis’ face in both his hands. “Gods, I thought Council would never end today.”
Ignis made a disapproving sound—Noct never paid nearly as much attention at Council as he should—and ran his hands up Noct’s jacket, hooking his fingers around the buttons at his chest. Noct kissed him again, deep and slow, parting his lips with his tongue and curling his fingers around the back of Ignis’ head.
“Luna’s invited us to lunch in the city,” he said, when he’d left Ignis dazed and faintly breathless. “Let’s sneak out before we’re forced to sit in on another meeting. I’ll set something on fire this time, you know.”
Ignis could only nod, well aware that Noct had timed the question only when he was too dizzy with the taste of him to protest.
“Come on, old man,” Noctis said, and Ignis could tell that he was wearing that same, self-deprecating smirk that even five years of public service couldn’t erase. “The fresh air will do you good.”